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Albus Dumbledore held a blue shard in his hand, regarding it with
a strange expression that might have been sadness, might have been
fond
reminiscence, but was most likely a combination of both. The
fragment
was covered with a few stubborn dark stains and soil. A pattern that
might
have been fluffy white clouds adorned the outer surface of the
fragment.

On the desk in Dumbledore's office there stood a basin, filled with
an
odd quicksilver that bore a passing resemblance to Dumbledore's long
silver
locks. The basin was covered with runes.

Dumbledore put the pottery piece aside with a sigh, then he peered
into
the Pensieve.

* * * *

A tall man, whose auburn hair has not yet reached the length at
which
tucking it into his belt would be possible, stands next to
himself.

He waves a hand in front of the eyes that are exactly like his,
but
are not his, and the owner of those eyes blinks. He then gestures
quickly
with his wand, summoning a chair, and sits his double down.
Producing
a wooden ruler, whose measurements a Muggle would puzzle at, he taps
the
knee of his duplicate, and the lower leg jumps slightly.

Lest you wonder for his sanity, as Harry Potter will at a certain
feast
46 years from now, I tell you that he has administered the tap on
the
knee and the wave over the eyes to the second 'self', the twin that
stands
(now sits) beside him, rather than the self he is.

"A thing which is not living, transfigured into a living beast
or
being, possesses basic instincts, locomotion, senses, and even
reacts
to stimuli . But it has no will of its own." The professor
turns
to his class.

"Professor Dumbledore?" A student raises her hand.

"Yes?"

"Is it alive?" She asks hesitantly, motioning
at
the second Albus Dumbledore, the seated one.

"He is alive, Yolanda, but he is like this pitcher."
Dumbledore
holds up a plain brown urn. "Whether or not a pitcher has a
mind,
a soul . That I will leave to the philosophers."

Dumbledore points his wand at Dumbledore, who is suddenly
replaced
by a bright blue flowerpot.

"And now, class, I was considering assigning an
essay
on the ethics of inanimate-human transfiguration ." The
class
groans deeply, and protests are voiced in a babble. Dumbledore
smiles
and holds up a single finger.

"But," he says, eyes twinkling, "as I
understand,
there is a particularly exciting Quidditch match this weekend,"
he
paused, "consider yourselves off the hook until next
week."

Cheers erupt in the classroom, not quite loud enough to mask
the
sound of the magical tone used to announce the end of class periods,
which
is met with even more cheers. Last period on Friday!

Dumbledore, still smiling, watches the class exit - stampede,
rather
- from the room. He notices a wizard trying to fight the tide
pouring
out of the classroom and finally giving up, waiting for the doorway
to
clear.

The stranger is wearing a neon orange bowler hat, and equally
loud
yellow robes. His face is friendly-looking, with a toothy smile and
flushed
cheeks. He has a short black beard and mustache. The wizard removes
his
hat as he scuttles over to Dumbledore, revealing black hair that is
cut
somewhere between short and long.

"Pleased to meet you, Professor Dumbledore," the
wizard
cheerfully states, grinning and sticking out his hand, still holding
the
neon bowler hat, which Dumbledore takes with a smile (The hand, not
the
hat). "Fibbius Sham, Ministry 'o Magic Inspector, at yer
service."

The inspector notices a copy of the Daily Prophet on Dumbledore's
desk.
"Right shame that is," says he, pointing at the
headline.

GRINDELWALD STRIKES AGAIN

Michaelus Faradan Found Dead By Glacier Curse

Renowned Charm researcher Michaelus Faradan was
found
dead in his private laboratory Wednesday, a victim of the
Glacier
Curse, only known to be cast by the Dark wizard Grindelwald.
Several
of Faradan's spellbooks are missing, as is his current research
into
Electricity Charms. Remaining materials were all but destroyed
by
a variety of curses and hexes. The Ministry of Magic has no
doubt
that the culprit is no other than Grindelwald, infamous for
murdering
and plundering magical researchers. He has yet to give evidence
of
using any of the Unforgivable Curses, likely fearing a
Dementor's
Kiss sentence. "Like that's goin' a save 'im from the
Dementors,"
a Hit Wizard on the scene commented. CONTINUED- PAGE 4

"Yes . I knew him." Dumbledore looks up sharply at
Mr.
Sham and holds his eyes. "I am sure Grindelwald will be brought
to
justice."

Sham looks away. Judging from his expression, he hadn't known
that
Dumbledore had been acquainted with Faradan, and was rather sorry to
have
mentioned it. "I'll be lookin' in on classes and inspecting the
school
this week for the Ministry . Still paranoid over that ah,
unfortunate
'incident' three years ago, if you ask me. Jus' thought I'd tell
you."
Mr. Sham hands a piece of paper to Dumbledore, a rough schedule of
his
inspections. "Well, you need to see people and go places, I'll
jus'
let myself out, shall I?" The now nervous- looking inspector
scuttles
out of the room as hastily as the students.

Dumbledore looks after him, musing in his expression.

* * * *

The classroom leaves, gone like smoke in the wind, flying away
in
the whirling thoughts of the Pensieve. The room returns in a few
moments,
yet three days have passed. It is now Monday, in the month of May,
1945.

* * * *

"Transfiguring an inanimate object, or even a living
creature,
into an intelligent being is very difficult. Only the most skilled
wizards
are able to do it . And even then, as you have seen, it is not
a
true being, but the basic aspects of that being. It is the attempted
copying
of a mind that makes such transfiguration so difficult. Beings, such
as
humans, merfolk, centaurs, and many others, have very complex minds
and
personalities when compared to, say, a puffskein." A number of
students
smile at this reference to the popular wizarding pet; many have
encountered
the docile puffskeins at some point in their lives.

"Of course, one can also imagine what the less scrupulous
would
do if Transfiguration of beings were so easy. I shudder to think
what
a Dark wizard could do with the ability to Transfigure objects into
a
slave army under the control of the Imperius Curse " As
Dumbledore
says this, Mr. Sham, who was dozing quietly on a school desk in the
back
of the room, gives a start and almost inhales his orange bowler hat.
A
nearby student helpfully knocks the hat out of the inspector's
mouth,
which has the unfortunate side effect of increasing the volume of
his
snores .

"Quietus," Dumbledore says with a small smile,
pointing
his wand at Sham. "As I said, the power to change objects into
animate
bodies is a power easily abused in the wrong hands. Exactly how this
power
can be abused, you will explain using a half meter of
parchment "
Dumbledore pauses while several students who hoped he had forgotten
the
assignment groan, and continues, "and congratulations for a
most
excellently played game against Ravenclaw . Dear Professor
Flitwick
won't be able to live it down for months, I daresay . Well, I'm
sure
he'll redeem himself at the Dueling Club." The Transfiguration
professor
glances toward the back of the room.

"Would someone be so kind as to wake dear Inspector Sham?
He
must have been up late filling out school reports for the
Ministry "

Jonas MacDonald leans over to tap the snoozing Sham, but the
inspector
starts awake in the nick of time. His hand blurs with incredible
speed
as it catches Jonas' own hand inches from the inspector's ear. Sham,
now
fully awake, smiles apologetically and releases Jonas, who leaves
rather
quickly.

* * * *

In the Daily Prophet that Fibbius Sham saw on Dumbledore's desk
the
Friday he arrived, there were a number of pictures. A wizard
photograph
on the fourth page showed a gutted house. In at least three places,
gaping
holes had been torn in the walls, and the windows had all been
shattered.
Smoke rose from the wreckage, some of it tinged a bright red.

Another showed the inside of Faradan's lab. A bookcase, now
little
more than a charred hunk of wood, rested against one wall. In the
center
of the photograph was a desk, presumably the work desk of the
deceased
wizard, encased in a jagged sheath of ice. The area around the chair
had
been carved out to recover Faradan's body. The desk surface was
completely
clear, save for a single sheet of paper. On it was written a single
word,
SURPRISE, presumably the last thing Faradan saw.

There were no pictures of Grindelwald. There were several
words,
however.

Little is known of the Dark wizard Grindelwald, save his
operating
method and motives. He hunts down wizards who have developed new
spells,
usually high profile or reputedly powerful researchers, kills
them,
and steals their work, usually 'modifying' it toward destructive
ends.
The pattern, however, was discovered too late for his first
three
victims. Now many wizards refuse to share their work publicly,
for
fear of discovery by Grindelwald. This precautionary measure,
however,
seems to make matters worse, as the Dark wizard somehow finds
out
anyway, and arrives before the Ministry can arrange a
bodyguard.

No visual description of Grindelwald exists, furthering the
paranoia
of magical researchers. His only confirmed physical trait is
size:
Grindelwald is known to be unusually large, standing over two
meters.
Investigators reached this conclusion after observing doorframes
broken
at the top in several of his victim's abodes.

Grindelwald has claimed the lives of 11 wizards, including
Mr.
Faradan.

The classroom and the newspaper fade, the Pensieve's strange,
swirling,
silvery substance replacing them. Now it takes the observer
somewhere
else

* * * *

Dumbledore had his hand on the handle of the door opening into
his
office and rooms on the fourth floor when he encountered Fibbius
Sham
during the last class period of Thursday.

"I'm doing a floor-by-floor shafety inspection,
Professhor .
Would you mind ifh I took a quick look at your offish?" Mr.
Sham
said. He had just exited the adjacent classroom and had a quill
clamped
between his teeth and his loud bowler askew. In his arms was a
collection
of large, important- looking folders and papers, which seemed in
grave
danger of spilling out of his arms and onto the floor.

"Of course, Mr. Sham. If you have any questions, I shall
do
my best to answer them." Dumbledore opened the door.

The room the opened door revealed was very orderly. Light
wooden
panels made up the walls. The floor, composed of very old looking
wood,
nevertheless appeared quite sturdy, which the inspector noted on one
of
his papers. Several windows looked out on the Hogwarts grounds,
giving
an especially fine view of the lake. In the center of the room was a
large
wooden desk, on top of which the Inanimate-Intelligent Switching
Ethics
papers were neatly stacked. A corner housed a large cabinet with
such
things as matches, teacups, pincushions, and other materials for
Transfiguration
class. One of the pincushions attempts to escape when Sham opens the
door .
Dumbledore, looking amused, rectifies the incomplete porcupine
Transfiguration.

Sham, who doesn't appear to be very observant under the best of
circumstances,
is understandably shocked when Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix
companion,
alights on his shoulder. A cascade of papers flows out onto the
floor
as the inspector jumps several feet in the air.

"Friend." Dumbledore holds out his arm, and Fawkes
flaps
over to perch on it.

"Hmm?" Sham looks at Dumbledore curiously.

"Fawkes is my friend. I do not consider him a pet."
There
is no reprimand in Dumbledore's tone, yet Sham seems apologetic.

"Oh, 'a course. Sorry sir. Sorry, eh ." At this,
Sham
fairly bungles Fawkes' name, and I leave it to you to decide exactly
how
he did so.

Dumbledore merely corrects him with an amused smile. Mr. Sham
changes
the subject very quickly.

"Well, your office checks out safety-wise," the
inspector
pauses and using the quill once again clamped between his teeth,
draws
a large and squiggly check mark on a blank page. Immediately, much
neater
writing appears magically beneath it, spelling out 'Transfiguration
office.'
"But the Ministry is also interested in the ah, defensive
measures
of the school."

"Yes, Professor. Oh, but could you fill out this? Just
documentation
for the school-wide enchantments." Sham hands Dumbledore a
blank
piece of paper. "Thank you for your information and time."
The
inspector bowed himself out of the room - or attempted to. He
tripped
over his robes and landed in a shower of papers in the fourth floor
hallway.

* * * *

Dumbledore lists the magics woven about the school on the paper
that
Sham gave him.

Anti - Apparition Field =
Prevents
all Apparating and Disapparating on Hogwarts grounds.

Illusion and Muggle - repelling
Charms
= all Muggles who happen across Hogwarts see only an aging
castle
in a state of extreme disrepair. In addition, they feel that
going
anywhere near the school is unsafe.

Unplottable - the Forbidden
Forest
and Hogwarts Lake have been made unplottable, as they are a
centaur
and merfolk reserve, respectively.

Underneath he describes the specific spells used to enchant the
school.
After five minutes, Dumbledore completes describing the school's
magic.
He opens his desk and finds the schedule that the inspector handed
to
him last Friday. According to the schedule, Mr. Sham is now
"inspecting"
(more likely napping, Dumbledore thinks with a grin) in Professor
Hamry's
Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Dumbledore, paperwork in hand, heads for the third floor.

* * * *

"The Confundus Charm," Professor Hamry explains,
"is
reviewed by both Professor Flitwick and I. Though the Charm may
possibly
have practical application, it can be used by Dark wizards and
mischief-makers
alike to great effect." The gray-haired professor looks
severely
at certain students as she said this. "It works, put simply, by
'giving
someone ideas.' The more complex the idea, the more difficult the
Charm
is to cast, as one must concentrate on the Confunding idea while
uttering
the incantation."

The professor pulls out her wand and points it at a student.

"Remember that the Confundus Charm only plants an idea in
someone's
mind,

not a command. I could Confund Mr. Sengor, here," she
gestures
with her wand at a nervous student, "into thinking homework was
important,
but that may or may not get him to do his homework."
Professor
Hamry shoots a disapproving look at Sengor while several students
laugh,
but calls for silence after a moment and favors the student with a
kind
smile. "Sorry I picked on you, Mr. Sengor, but you did set
yourself
up by not turning anything in for two weeks."

Hamry begins to pace. "You can generally tell if someone's
Confunded
by irrational behavior, though I doubt that would be much of a
change
for some of us, and a glazed look in the victim's eyes."

This is what Dumbledore hears as he comes down the hall and
stands
outside the classroom door, which is slightly ajar. At this point he
decides
it is as good a time as any to interrupt Hamry's class. He walks in
as
Hamry pauses. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, about to
launch
into another detail of the Confundus Charm, glances at the
Transfiguration
Professor.

"Well, good day, Professor Dumbledore. I must say that
this
is a bit of a surprise." Hamry is only slightly chagrined at
having
her class interrupted, but the students have no such misgivings
whatsoever.

"Just stopping by to give Inspector Sham his paperwork,
Professor.
Where is Mr. Sham?" Dumbledore surveys the room and spots
Fibbius
at the back. "Ah, there you are."

The inspector snores gently, the orange bowler hat tipped to
shade
his face.

Dumbledore smiles knowingly and tucks the form on school
enchantments
into the large pile on Sham's desk. The inspector's arms twitch, as
if
he means to lunge forward, but Sham settles down again after a
moment.

* * * *

At dinner that evening in the Great Hall, the discussion on the
teacher's
table revolved around the Dark wizard Grindelwald.

"I do hope they catch him soon," the timid and quiet
Herbology
Professor Grubb says.

"This is a most terrible business ." Her
voice
fades, as she cannot find the words to express herself more
fully.

"Don't worry, Miriam, the Ministry's onto him now, they've
got
Hit Wizards and everything after him," Professor Flitwick says
as
he nibbles a dinner roll in a subdued fashion.

"Do you know," Professor Vitrius, the Potions master,
pauses
to swallow a lump of food, "I've heard that the Department of
Mysteries
is getting involved. My guess is the Unspeakables are trying to
locate
Grindelwald."

"What good will that do?" grumbles the gruff and
pessimistic
Professor Kettleburn. His magical wooden arm raises a glass of water
halfheartedly.

"Unspeakables are highly trained special agents,
Marcus,
I should think you would know that. Why, they are practically alert
in
their sleep!" Vitrius exclaims.

"Don't get me wrong, Mabel, I want to see this maniac
locked
up at the very least as much as you do." Professor Kettleburn
peered
out from beneath singed eyebrows. "I just . Well, you've
seen
what's happening. Twelve murders, and not so much as a shred of
evidence
pointing to who or where he is."

Vitrius, Grubb, Kettleburn, and Dumbledore (who is quietly
eating
his food and thinking) sit in silence for a few moments. That
silence
shatters upon the arrival of Professor Hamry, who has observed and
disapproves
of their melancholy attitude.

"Why the long faces, my fellows?" The four professors
stare
at Hamry and her bright green and cucumber shaped nose.

Professor Kettleburn is the first to crack. He struggles
mightily,
but a chortle escapes his widening grin. Vitrius pretends to have a
coughing
fit. Grubb barely manages to keep her lemon juice from erupting out
of
her nose. Dumbledore finally looks up from his soup and smiles.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you find me amusing," Hamry
says,
and her eyes twinkle. "Now, we're going to have a nice,
cheerful
discussion. Agreed?" The Defense Against the Dark Arts
professor
returned her nose to its normal coloration and shape as she smiled
at
the others, who nodded.

Hamry looks around. "I wonder where inspector Sham is? He
looked
like he needed some cheering up when he walked into my class this
afternoon .
Very nervous, the poor man."

"How did he ever become an inspector, anyway? He
doesn't
look like he's very organized or very coordinated, for that
matter."
Professor Grubb smiles; probably remembering one of Sham's numerous
mishaps.

"Well, if you ask me, he's a new recruit," Vitrius
says.
"Ministry had us lined up for yearly inspections for 5 years
after
the the ."

"The opening of the Chamber of Secrets, Mabel."
Dumbledore
speaks for the first time. His eyes reflect sadness, but there is no
hesitation
or fear in his voice.

Vitrius is momentarily stunned, but continues, "Yes, after
that
the Ministry sent us the inspection schedule. Sent us an owl just
two
weeks ago. It seems the originally scheduled inspector was somehow
detained,
and they informed us of dear Fibbius' arrival. Must be a junior
officer
or something."

"Well, I hope this isn't his full-time job. Goodness, he
sleeps
half the time he's 'inspecting,' and the other half he's tripping
over
his own robes."

* * * *

The Great Hall disappears. The story now comes to a fork in the
road.
One path, Dumbledore remembers through the Pensieve. The tales of
his
colleagues carve the other path out of the forest that is existence.
Their
thoughts were added, by Dumbledore's request, to the Pensieve.

The Pensieve's mists are made visible for a moment, and then out of
the
silvery fog appears Dumbledore's quarters.

It is Saturday, a Hogsmeade weekend, and Dumbledore is the only
teacher
chaperone. Normally, the other teachers would accompany him, but
everyone
else was attending a staff meeting called by Fibbius Sham to review
the
inspection. The Transfiguration professor cannot find his wallet.
What
he does find is a messily scrawled note, complete with mangled
spelling
of Dumbledore's name:

Professor Dumbuldor:

Found your wallet in my papers. Must have picked it up with the
forms
I dropped. In my quarters under the Astronomy Tower.

Fibbius Sham, M.O.M. Inspector

The Transfiguration teacher scrutinized the note. Something strikes
him
as not quite right. It is nothing in particular, just a vague
feeling,
but still .

Dumbledore heads for the tallest tower.

He has pocketed his wand.

* * * *

The staff room is packed. Headmaster Dippet and all of the
Professors,
including Hamry, Kettleburn, Vitrius, Grubb and Flitwick, sit on one
side
of the long table. The other side is jam-packed with stacks of
folders,
files, and papers. The professors are chatting quietly with each
other.

Fibbius Sham enters, carrying yet another large stack of paper.
The
room quiets and Headmaster Dippet speaks. "Good day, Inspector!
Do
you need help with--" Dippet never finishes that sentence.

The mild-mannered inspector drops the sheaf of papers suddenly,
as
is his wont. There is nothing clumsy, however, in the rapid movement
that
followed. Sham draws two wands that have been hidden under the stack
and
levels them with incredible speed at the Hogwarts staff. The
startled
professors only have time to grasp their wands, then-

"EXPELLIARMUS!" The room is bathed in a flash
of
red light, and several professors are blasted off their feet. A
shower
of wands lands at Sham's feet. The two he holds in his hands are
still
leveled menacingly at the staff, and those who are conscious stare
in
utter disbelief.

Sham has counted on the skill of the professors - on the fact
that
they would be fast enough to at least grab their wands, thus
enabling
him to disarm them.

When Sham speaks, his voice has none of its usual cheerfulness.

"No one is going anywhere."

* * * *

Dumbledore pushes the door open and enters Fibbius' makeshift
quarters,
just below the highest point of the castle, the Astronomy Tower. It
is,
as you might have guessed, drenched in papers. The inspector's cot
lies
in the corner of the room, the sheets tumbling messily to the floor
and
the pillow a bit crooked. A plain cloth wallet, electric blue, is
perched
on a small table directly in front of him.

The Transfiguration professor takes one step. This is when he
notices
the paper taped to the wall above the table. The one that reads
'SURPRISE.'

"Aegis," Dumbledore says, just as the top half
of
the Astronomy Tower is smashed by a record gale. Huge stone blocks
and
countless papers tumble through the air around Dumbledore, they fly
straight
at him-

They bounce off an invisible force surrounding him. The mighty
wind,
with nothing to halt its progress, plows into the professor and
carries
him into the darkened sky, black clouds heavy with rain and
portending
conflict.

"VOLATUS!" Dumbledore shouts into the storm.
Immediately,
he levels out and hovers in place amid flying stone and howling
wind.
Though the wind whips mercilessly against his eyes, Dumbledore sees
another
figure rising from the rubble-a huge one.

At least two meters tall.

The Dark wizard halts across from Dumbledore, perhaps twenty
feet
away. It is a wonder how anyone could miss the man-thing that floats
opposite
Dumbledore. Besides Grindelwald's mammoth stature, he is dressed in
black
boots, a leather vest, pants, and gloves - certainly not normal
wizard
attire. Long, scraggly green strands of hair blow out from the Dark
wizard's
head. His eyes are shadowed under a large brow, and his teeth, filed
to
points, show in a hideous grin. Grindelwald looks rather like a
forest
troll wearing clothes.

The wind was abating, and Dumbledore can hear the Dark wizard
shouting
at him, in his asphalt voice.

"Excellent, Professor .. but I wouldn't
expect
any less from the alchemical mastermind, the wizard who discovered
the
twelve magical properties of Dragon's blood .."
Grindelwald's
smile widens. "Tell me where you keep your work, and you will
die
relatively quickly."

Dumbledore also smiled, his wand at the ready. "How does
Fibbius
fit into this?"

"Oh, is it a villain's exposition you want from me? Very
well ..
but you'll have to earn it. We duel. The longer you stay alive, the
longer
you hear my voice ." The Dark wizard's smile widened to an
unnatural
size. "I will be the last thing you ever hear, so you had best
keep
me talking!" Grindelwald laughed hysterically, then stopped
with
a suddenness that implied madness. "Bow," he said,
"bow
to your doom."

Dumbledore bows, but even as he does so he listens for
Grindelwald
to strike - the Dark wizard does not bow, but raises his wand and
cries
"Stupefy!"

"Fumus Speculum!" Dumbledore shouts. A flash
of
bright white light, and he is surrounded by Dumbledores. The
professor
finishes his bow in a dive as he casts the spell; the illusory
Dumbledores
speed in every direction and the flash has made it difficult to
determine
which way the real one went. Grindelwald's curse splits the air
where
the professor hovered moments before, its energy dissipating as it
streaks
away.

The voice of Grindelwald, magically enhanced, booms out.
"I
am a man of my word, Dumbledore, and you will have your
explanation."
The Dark wizard sounds rather pouty, but what amazes Dumbledore is
that
Grindelwald also sounds sincere - he really believes that he is a
wizard
of honor.

"Fibbius Sham is not a Ministry inspector, as you may have
guessed,
Dumbledore. His clumsiness and drowsiness are merely acts, to hide
the
truth. What I find most amusing about this situation is that Sham,
an
Unspeakable sent to watch over Albus Dumbledore, unwittingly has a
hand
in his destruction!"

On the word 'destruction,' Grindelwald blasts a fake Dumbledore
out
of the sky, the illusion dispelling in a puff of blue smoke.

* * * *

For the first few moments, the staff is still in a state of
utter
disbelief. Finally, Dippet chokes out, "Why?"

Sham looks at the Headmaster, and states as simply as if he
were
commenting on the weather, "Because one of you is the Dark
wizard
Grindelwald hiding under the effect of a Polyjuice Potion. His next
target
is your Transfiguration teacher, Dippet," Sham's voice takes on
an
edge, "if that is your real name."

"How can you be certain?" Professor Vitrius says
after
a moment of stunned silence.

"The Dark wizard would say something like that,"
Sham's
eyes narrow as he says this, "but to answer your question, I am
an
Unspeakable, dispatched to protect Albus Dumbledore, as the Ministry
believes
he is the next target."

"I don't think that's what she means," begins
Professor
Kettleburn, "She wants to know how you're sure that one of us
is
'Grindelwald hiding under a Polyjuice Potion.'"

The gruff professor looked at Sham skeptically.

"It it just makes sense, ok?!" Sham's eyes look
a
bit glassy. "How else would you get into the school,
Grindelwald?"

Professor Flitwick turns to the conscious staff, including
Hamry,
Kettleburn, Dippet, and Vitrius. "Confunded," he
mouths.

"What are you trying to tell your accomplices,
Grindelwald?
I'm armed, so don't even think of trying anything " Sham
holds
up the twin wands. He does look quite dangerous.

Flitwick sighs.

Vitrius motions to Hamry, gesturing at the crumpled form of
Professor
Grubb on the floor. "I don't think poor Miriam even had time to
draw .
Never was any good at dueling."

* * * *

"I placed a Confundus Charm on the Unspeakable . He
now
believes a member of your staff is me, disguised by a Polyjuice
Potion.
I broke into the school yesterday, using a Vanishing Spell .
And
a few other tricks." Grindelwald curses down another
Dumbledore,
the false professor fading into more blue smoke.

"While the Unspeakable was deep in an enchanted sleep, I
stole
a paper with his handwriting on it," Grindelwald says as he
lines
up another Dumbledore with his wand and curses it. "I copied
his
handwriting to lure you to the Astronomy Tower."

A Dumbledore rises up in front of Grindelwald suddenly, wand
at
the ready. The Dark wizard reacts instantly, uttering an
incantation.
"CONGLACIO!"

A brilliant bolt of blue light lances through the Dumbledore,
which
turns out to be an illusion - the last one. A wave of cold so
intense,
the real Dumbledore can feel a chill 20 meters away. The curse stops
only
when it strikes the Divination Tower, instantly encasing it in a
crystal-hard
shell of bluish ice.

"Ferio!" The voice is not magically amplified,
but
it carries like a musical note . Twin streaks of whitish yellow
light
thud into Grindelwald. The first hits him in the legs with such
force
that the Dark wizard flips over in the air. The second slams into
the
back of Grindelwald's head like a sledgehammer. He rights himself,
and
is obviously in quite bad pain, but smiles-a crazy smile, with a mad
look
in his eye. He sounds gleeful as he screams, "YES! A WORTHY
OPPONENT!"

The Dark wizard wheels around, then looks down, to see
Dumbledore
diving away under the power of his flying spell.
"FULGURIO!"
Grindelwald smiles as he watches Dumbledore. There is a slight
possibility
of dodging his favorite curse, the Glacier - but this new one is
impossible
to avoid.

Dumbledore smells the ozone in the air, the odor of a
thunderstorm,
and realizes what is coming. He speaks an incantation breathlessly,
("Pertica
Metallum") and even as he feels the conjured steel rod in
his
hand, there is a deafening thunderclap, a flash of light, his hand
leaves
the metal, and-

Electrical energy races down the metal that Dumbledore's hand
recently
vacated. The rod is blackened immediately, and Dumbledore can smell
it
frying, can feel the heat, his long hair stands on end, and it's
over
as quickly as it came, the charred metal dropping to the ground over
45
meters below.

Grindelwald, as you may guess, is beside himself with killing
giddiness.
His wand stays unerringly pointed at his most worthy foe, he shouts,
"CONGLACIO!"
Dumbledore hears the Dark wizard's giant voice, and counters with a
Fire
Sphere Charm: "Pyro Circumplico!" A smothering
heat,
and a wreath of flames surrounds Dumbledore, burning in midair.

Cold, an unimaginable freezing cold soaks the professor to his
very
bones, but the curse misses him. Dumbledore has an idea; while the
short
lived Fire Sphere putters out, he cries "Accio!"
and
flies toward Grindelwald.

* * * *

Fibbius Sham's dual wands wave menacingly at Flitwick, really
at
everyone. The Confunded and paranoid Unspeakable looked on the verge
of
doing something crazy. Someone returning to consciousness shifts on
the
floor, apparently unaware of the danger.

"I'm warning you," Sham said, his voice filled with a
deadly
calm. The professors look around, panicked, which the jumpy Sham saw
as
some sort of offensive action. "Stupefy!" he
shouts,
but at the same time a diminutive figure leaps up from the floor
where
she had been crouching and yells "Expelliarmus!" in
a
shrill voice, clutching - a wand.

Jets of red light blast from Sham's twin wands; one of them
strikes
the wall behind Headmaster Dippet, who shouts, the other hits
Kettleburn
in the arm - splintering the magic prosthetic construct. Meanwhile,
a
bolt from the wand of the witch hits Sham, who is already beginning
a
shield spell, full in the chest, rocking the Unspeakable backwards
and
causing the twin wands to soar across the room and bounce off
opposite
walls. The inspector/Unspeakable tripps over his own robes and hits
his
head on the wall behind him.

Those staff members still standing can only wonder at the sight
of
timid Professor Grubb holding her wand with both hands in front of
her,
eyes screwed tightly shut. One eye slowly peeks open, the other
following.
The Herbology Professor stares in even greater amazement than her
colleagues
had for her at the Unspeakable crumpled against the wall. Finally,
she
turns to regard her friends.

Noticing that everyone was staring at her, Miriam Grubb says
the
first thing that came to mind: "What?"

* * * *

Grindelwald sees the flames dissipate around Albus Dumbledore.
The
Transfiguration teacher will not escape this time - Grindelwald had
never,
ever used the Killing Curse. It was too easy, too simple - no
challenge.

But, quite frankly, Albus Dumbledore is turning out to be more
of
a challenge than Grindelwald was prepared to handle.

The Dark wizard aims impeccably, his wand lines up, his eyes
flash,
he grins, and he savors the moment, the words on his lips,
"AVADA
KEDAVRA!" The green light streaks from the end of his wand,
it
strikes the foolish Transfiguration teacher in the chest, the light
in
the professor's eyes fades, Albus Dumbledore dies. Exquisite.

* * * *

This is the moment Albus Dumbledore has come to relive through
the
Pensieve. Flying above the Hogwarts of his memories, he watches the
scene
carefully, especially this climax. He is watching the eyes that are
an
exact copy of his own, even 50 years later

He is searching those eyes, those dying eyes, for a definite
flash
of sentience, or perhaps the dull gleam confirming that the dying
Dumbledore
copy was already devoid of mind and spirit, simply a fleshy
simulacra

This is the moment .

And he is still not sure what he sees.

* * * *

A thought struggles in Grindelwald's mind: too easy. Too easy to
kill
the foe, to kill the Transfiguration teacher-

TRANSFIGURATION TEACHER! A blazing fire of awareness lights in
the
Dark wizard's mind.

Grindelwald wheels, there he is, Albus Dumbledore, his most
worthy
foe, and there are words already on his lips .
"Cuniculus!"
And he reaches for his wand, but his hand is too small, getting
smaller,
he cannot grasp the wand with his-paw!

Albus Dumbledore casts a second spell,
"Stupefy!"
and swoops to catch the swooning body of Grindelwald, a body that is
not
Grindelwald's true form, a body that cannot do anyone harm (except
maybe
cabbage)-a small, brown rabbit.

Down on the ground, 40 meters below, a blue flowerpot with a
cheery
cloud pattern is shattered on the steps of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft
and Wizardry, and a steady rain begins to fall.

* * * *

Albus Dumbledore surfaced from the Pensieve. He regarded the
pottery
shard on his desk, as he did earlier that eve, and remembered eyes
that
are the same intense color of blue

His own eyes.

He remembered his own eyes staring back at him as the curse hit
his
double, and though the Pensieve shows him every detail, this is
something
he is never sure of: What did he - does he - see in those eyes? Was
it
only his imagination, or had a brief flicker of awareness,
recognition,
acceptance, been present there? Dumbledore did not know.

The aging Headmaster stood, and looked out the window onto the
Hogwarts
grounds. His reflection was in the glass; he searched its eyes, but
found
only searching. And then he saw that this memory is like an
Erised
it will trap him should he brood on it. Perhaps he should be content
in
his uncertainty.

Dumbledore turned back to his desk and placed the shard in a
dusty
drawer. He almost collapsed in the soft chair, suddenly a very old
man.

He smiled as he heard the phoenix song, and closed his eyes.
Fawkes
sung his friend to sleep.

EPILOGUE

Very few things can pierce the heart of the one who will become
Lord
Voldemort one of them is fear.

It is as if one of the million shards of that broken flowerpot
had
lanced deep into the very soul of Tom Riddle for perhaps the
first
time, he knew fear, not merely a subtle apprehension, but true
horror.

The fear sparked a determination he would be better. He
would
triumph where his peer had not, he would make the likes of Albus
Dumbledore
tremble . Yet he himself trembled when he first heard the news
that
Grindelwald, the (then) greatest Dark wizard in history, had been
defeated
by a schoolteacher.

He told himself that he had trembled with rage. As Riddle's
transformation
progressed, he gained mastery over his body's responses to fear and
other
emotions but that did not stop the small tremor in his mind
when
he thought of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

//

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